


Love is for Children

by regimes_fall



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regimes_fall/pseuds/regimes_fall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn. Natasha has a late night encounter with Loki a good while after the end of the Avengers. Fantasy? Dream? Actual sneaky, naughty Loki in her bed? Who knows. No real point other than this was what I was in the mood for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is for Children

There was a coldness inside her, a coldness that could burn, consume, shatter. It was a secret place, planted in her childhood and grown in a lifetime of Winter, a place she smothered in good intentions and nurtured with death and desire. A place that would not die. 

She had moved on from the girl she had been forcibly, driven by gratitude and understanding that there were other things to live for, that she could let warmth conquer her if she chose. Warmth was where she lived now, where she awoke every morning and moved her things to, and still it was not home. The smile of Clint Barton, the understanding she found in his sly, fox eyes when he looked at her should’ve been home for her. She should’ve loved him as more than her brother, should’ve let him build a world with her in it, and she tried, each and every day, to let him lure her further inside. But she could not stay in the warmth of his world, for all she tried. 

Clint Barton was her Summer boy, and for all the golden invitation she saw in him, there was forever something treacherous to her about Summer. Forever something that she worried would melt the core of her and let it flow away. Something that would change who she was at her heart. Who she needed to be to survive. She endured Clint Barton’s love though she was not built for such earnest things as that, and as much as she tried to be the woman Barton and Fury and everyone else in her life thought she was, there were days when she just couldn’t. 

There had been a day when she’d encountered a lost prince. A day when he’d swept into her world ragged and twisted, beautiful and pale, and left a trail of ruin wherever he stepped. He had reminded her of what it was like to hate, to fear, to feel vulnerable inside and out. He had looked at her from the other side of a pane of glass and she had known then, as surely as she knew everything else about herself, that he saw her clearly through eyes the color of melted ice. Eyes like Winter. Eyes that she thought of still. 

The dichotomy of hate and desire was something that replenished her, that touched that cold spot within her and reminded her each and every time she looked into Barton’s face and felt the debt she owed him, that she would always owe him, that she could all too easily have a betrayer’s heart. 

“ _Is this love, Agent Romanoff_?” He had asked her once and she thought of it at night in a bed that was comfortably cool and noticeably empty. 

_No_ , she thought. _No. But this is desire, and that is dangerous enough._

She dreamed of long, pale fingers, of hair black like a raven’s wing that she could sink her hands into and feel the sleekness of it. She dreamed of a mouth with large, white teeth, a mouth that would hurt, that would bite and kiss and suck in just the way she liked, and a long, lean body that would fit just so between her thighs. She hated those dreams and needed them, yearned for fulfillment she knew better than to find. He was far away from her, where he needed to be, and if he fell to Earth again she would be honor-bound to kill him.

 _I could never_ , she thought.

 _There is no way_ , she thought. 

Until there was. 

He was in her bedroom when she awoke, a single, long finger stroking along the sole of her foot that had worked its way out from between her blankets. She jolted at the sight of him but she did not move to grab her gun, knowing instinctively that this was not real, and even if it was, her gun would not work anyway. 

“You’re not real,” she told him, and felt something low in her body clench tight when he smiled, a flash of those white teeth in the moonlight.

“No,” he agreed, his voice so refined and soft. The voice of a storybook prince. 

“I will kill you,” she said as he moved closer, crawling up onto the foot of her bed and toward her splayed thighs, his fingers curling into and tugging at the blanket until her panties were revealed to him. 

“You can’t,” he said simply and he was close enough to one of her thighs that she could feel his breath on her skin as he spoke. “Not now.” 

His hand lifted and moved to rest between her thighs and his fingers were not cold at all as he simply cupped her there for a moment, then moved to press in deeper, parting the folds of her through her panties until he could find the heat of her, rubbing. She made a choked noise she immediately cut off by digging her teeth into her bottom lip, and he looked up at her with another one of those smiles, a smile that split, then closed around the flesh of her thigh in a sharp nip that had her, finally, moaning openly for him. 

“No need for guilty silence,” he told her, the sharp tip of his nose moving against her skin as his mouth inched closer and closer to join his fingers at the juncture of her thighs. “This isn’t real, Agent Romanoff. You can do whatever you please with me, and our Mr. Barton will never know the difference.” 

“No,” she breathed pleadingly, not asking him to stop but instead asking him to speak no more of Clint. She could not bear it. “Don’t.” 

“Shh,” he hushed her, his fingers abandoning rubbing her through her panties in favor of curling in the waistband and beginning to work them down her thighs. She brought her knees together to assist in his getting them all the way down and when he tossed them aside and moved those large hands to her knees once more, she allowed him to spread her legs as wide as they could go. 

She was not embarrassed of her body, had never thought she had any reason to be, and she watched his face with a sense of fascination as she noticed that he looked different. His hair was softer, longer, no longer a slicked, sleek helmet that pushed away from his face but instead an artful, soft tumble of curls that fell about his shoulders. His clothes were far more simple, the soft material of his pants nudging her thighs as he moved to kneel in between them. He bent over her, leaning in, though he did not move to touch her just yet. 

“Yes?” He asked, and she noticed then that his face was different, too. Paler, but healthier. His eyes still looked like ice, but they did not freeze. 

Lifting one hand to sink into the inky black wealth of curls and encourage him closer, she nodded. “Yes.” 

His hand moved first, two long fingers spreading her open and baring the secret inner folds of her. She watched the intimate flash of pink that was his tongue as his head dipped, not moving toward her clit immediately as most men would’ve done, but instead pausing to lap at the well of her, pressing against that clenching, fluttering little entrance until the tip of his tongue slipped inside. She gasped loudly, her thighs tensing on either side of him, and she shuddered as his opposite hand move to frame the flushed folds of her, his thumb dipping unerringly to find her clit and rub her in smooth, firm circles. 

She had expected nothing but firm, cool control from him, and that was definitely present in the way he was so masterfully taking over her body, but there was an eagerness too, that had had him pressing closer without her gripping him by the hair and dragging him there, that had him curling his tongue inside her body as though he wanted to scoop more of the flavor of her out. She loved the relish with which he ate at her, loved the inelegant noises he made in his throat as her body grew wetter and wetter around his tongue, as her clit throbbed beneath the unending circle of his thumb. 

“Loki,” she breathed, saying his name out loud, acknowledging who was doing this to her. His answer was a smile against her flesh, the slick, hard surface of those teeth as he withdrew his tongue from her body and his thumb from her clit, then licked a firm path up until he was covering the pulsing little bud with his mouth. He sucked at her as her reward, holding that most sensitive part of her between his teeth, slipping his fingers between them to circle the fluttering well of her, then sink two inside. They were long and full inside her, her body wet but still tight, and she groaned as he worked his fingers within her, seeking that wildfire spot and then finding it with a skill and ease that no man before him had ever managed. 

She came around his fingers, against his tongue, her body collapsing in an action of clench and release, her voice ragged as she moaned toward the ceiling. His hair was fisted in both hands, and he licked her through to the other side, removing his wet fingers from her body to spread her once more as he sipped at the well of her as though not one bit of her could be wasted. She’d never experienced a man so set on tasting her, on having all of her, and she shuddered again when she looked down between her thighs and he was looking back up at her with red, wet lips. 

“Come here,” she said, her voice throaty as she tugged on his hair, and in a display of almost obedience, he moved up and toward her, his still-clothed hips fitting between her thighs as he pressed his body almost fully down against her. 

Their size difference was such that he could’ve smothered her if he chose, but he kept his back up and arched, his hips pressing forward, notching the heat of his erection against the bare, drenched flesh of her through whatever soft material made his pants. She arched her hips up, her mouth seeking his, and she lipped along the wetness of his chin before finding his bottom lip and taking it between both of hers. They looked at each other from that angle, too close to be anything less than blurry and Natasha felt the moment stretch between them, arching, heating, freezing. 

“Yes,” she breathed, releasing his lip and falling lax against the bed. “Yes.” 

His mouth pressed against hers, thinner than her own and hard with the edge of teeth, but softening as he parted his lips and let his tongue slip out, gentling as he took her lips for the first time. He tasted richly of her as his tongue slipped into her mouth, stroking along her own, and she gripped once more at his soft hair, arching her back as his hands moved to slip beneath the tank top she slept in, creeping up to cradle both breasts at once. She shivered as he found her nipples and stroked them to hardness between the pads of two fingers, pinching and tugging gently, making her writhe. She wanted his mouth there, his teeth. 

She wanted to be bitten and sucked, wanted so many things that she was almost drunk with it, but she let her own hands wander down, ignoring his shirt in favor of the laces of his pants, working them open with blind but still deft fingers until the laces sagged beneath the press of his cock and she could push them down far enough to have him in her hand. He was long, so long, and thick and perfect, his big body shivering against hers as she gripped the base and stroked up to linger about the thick head, tasting his moan as it came guttural and harsh into her mouth. 

He broke the kiss to look down at her then, rising up on his knees to tug his shirt up and over his head. His body was marble pale and perfect, sculpted lean and masculine without being bulky. She wanted to lean up and press her mouth to his flesh, to trail a line of kisses down the center line, to follow the dark line of hair that spilled from the thimble of his belly button and spread to just above the long jut of his cock. She wanted him in her mouth, the taste of him salty and sweet as he pressed past her lips and onto her tongue, filling her mouth so that he was all she could breathe or taste, pushing down deep so she had to work to swallow him. 

“Natasha,” he murmured, and it was the first time she’d ever heard him say her first name. He’d always been formal, even as he’d teased her and then later, shouted abuse, but the man in front of her now seemed leagues away from the crazed God she’d peered at through a glass box. That was a dangerous thought, but this was a dream, wasn’t it? She could do whatever she wanted in dreams. 

“I want you in my mouth,” she breathed, and that smile tipped his lips again as he tugged the hem of her shirt up, baring her breasts to his gaze, though he did not move to take her top entirely off. 

“As I want you in mine, darling,” he said, his head dipping as he closed his lips around one nipple. He sucked at it eagerly, worrying it with his teeth until she was arching beneath him, the wetness of her catching and dragging at the firm plane of his lower stomach, his cock. He pressed down against her, his lips pulling away from her breast until it was just his teeth, until she could see the whiteness of them closing around bits of flesh and sinking in until just that point of pain. 

“Oh God,” she breathed, arching her neck, her back, the fingers of one hand tangled and fisted tight in his hair, the other still circling, stroking his cock. He was hot and thick and growing wetter, almost as wet as she was now, as precum spilled from the tip of him and slid down, coating her fingers, slicking the slide of flesh against flesh. 

She knew then how pliant she had become beneath him, how mindless and mad with desire he’d driven her with his mouth and fingers, and she wanted his cock. Wanted to be fucked and filled and taken by him, wanted the full experience, of whatever sort it was. 

_It’s not real_ , she told herself, but the cock in her hand, pulsing and throbbing with life and want surely felt so. The wetness and empty ache between her thighs even more than that. 

She guided the tip of his cock between her swollen, saturated folds, watching his face as she pressed it between her folds and into the wetness that waited there, that he’d created, coating the tip of him in honeyed heat, but not moving to press him inside. She watched a shiver work its way down his spine, watched his teeth tighten and then go still against the flesh of her breast. “Inside me,” she breathed, moving the head of his cock to the entrance of her body, tucking it there, letting it feel how her body clenched and welcomed him, how the wetness there mixed with the precum leaking from the tip of him, how it coated them both. “Please.” 

His face moved from her breasts to tuck itself in the crook of her neck, his breath coming in hot pants over her skin and the bunched material of her shirt as he gripped one of her thighs and pressed it back, draping it over his forearm. His cock slid against her, further up and over her clit and she moaned, but his own hand moved to join hers, taking the base of his cock in hand and guiding it back to where she waited and ached, where she needed to be filled. 

The first thrust inside her was slow, allowing her to feel her body clench and stretch around him, the blunt thickness of him pushing through clenching walls, his hips pressing forward, her thigh tipping back until she was entirely opened by him, entirely filled. They both moaned in unison, his muffled by the flesh of her neck, hers echoing off the ceiling as her body clamped down around his as though it could hold him there through force of will alone. It had been so long since she’d been taken by anyone and he was so goddamn big that the penetration came with a slight pinch and a feeling of overfullness, but it was worth it to be taken by him, to feel him trembling and taught above her as they both struggled for control. 

She dipped her head to kiss his shoulder, licking over the tendon that connected his shoulder to his neck, tasting the salt of his skin and knowing it would linger there. She felt his own mouth press taught against her neck and she tipped her head to the side, offering her flesh up to him without hesitation. “Bite,” she pleaded, and he did. 

He bit at a bit of her flesh, sucking it to the point of almost pain as he pulled back from her body and thrust deeply inside once more, her flesh dragging wetly between his teeth in the action. She groaned, her fingers tightening in encouragement in his hair as he sucked at her flesh, marking her, filling her, thrusting into her time after time in a rhythm that was slow, deep, and hard. She was liquid and pliant beneath him, her body moving with his, her legs locked around his lean hips as he worked into her over and over again, filling her to bursting and then leaving her aching and empty when he pulled back. His teeth caught at her neck, the tops of her breasts, the swollen flesh of her bottom lip over and over again as they twisted and worked against each other, the smack of flesh on flesh filling the room. 

Her second orgasm was more intense than the first, the sensation of being fucked and filled as she came around his cock more than enough to drive her into a second and then a third, his husky, pleased laugh in her hair something far warmer and less cruel than she remembered. She shuddered against him, her face tucked into the dark cloud of his hair as he bore down on her, his thrusts rapid and hard, hitting her flesh with resounding smacks until he stiffened and there was a flush of heat deep inside her, his slowing strokes even more slick as they blended together within her. 

She collapsed on the bed, her body going limp and her thighs loosening from his hips to splay wide, the after-jolts of both of their orgasms radiating through the lower half of her body. She felt a kiss on her chin before she lost consciousness, and then the almost painful slide of his softening cock from inside her body. She wanted to reach for him but there was no strength left, and when her hand lifted to clench at his arm she found nothing but air. 

She thought, _Not real_. 

She thought, _Too real_. 

And then there was no more but mindless, peaceful sleep in a bed of mussed covers, a sleep that was satisfied and deep. A sleep that took place in a bed that was comfortably cool and noticeably empty.


End file.
